“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” — Henry David Thoreau, Writer.
In a time of crisis, like what has taken hold of the world today, it is difficult to think of or talk about anything else but the crisis itself.
As the modern world comes to a halt, it quietly presents an opportunity to stop and think — about our lives and the lives of everyone and everything else that represents sentient life. Modern neoliberal economics (an almost unregulated form of capitalism that entails a constantly growing economy, globalization and just in time supply chains) have brought with it an attitude dismissive of ecology, equality and the deep bonds of community and locality. It has changed the relationship between man and nature (as well as between man and man). It has also made clear the ease at which things can go so bad, so quickly, so extensively. It’s been a huge price to pay for accelerated material progress and convenience. And now, perhaps with the slowing down of everything, as painful as it may be for many whose lives and livelihood depend on a hustling economy, it might be a call to action, the kind of action that calls into question of what has become habitual about ourselves and our thinking, both individually and as a society. Why? Because what we do habitually is what we accept.
Is more still the answer to our problems? When or what is the meaning of enough? Is it possible to live with more connection rather than more stuff? How habitual have we become, reacting rather than truly paying attention to people or things? Can we re-align our focus towards action that is not habitual or mechanical, that which is attentive, clear and compassionate, action that is respectful of everything natural, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
“The mind is quiet when there is attention.” — J. Krishnamurti
It is a call to ask ourselves do we have any real love in our hearts? For love is necessary for real passion (and compassion). This is where our creative and innovative spirit merges from, and not, as some suggest, that it comes only out of competition and the greed for individual power and wealth, a mindset that is patriarchal and nationalistic and has brought with it thousands of wars in our brief history on this planet. The most brilliant creations, both artistic and scientific provide ample proof that innovation happens in spite of this violence rather than because of it.
Selfishness is ever so deceptive. The mind disguises it in the form of pride, ambition, security, or meritocracy. If we become habitually selfish, then there is no room for learning. We close ourselves (and others) off. We focus more on ourselves, our ego than our craft, more on our individual success rather than its potential benefit to the world. In a constantly competitive winners-take-all philosophy, a mindset that might be currently responsible for driving us towards a world filled with narcissism and hoarding of wealth (and then justifying it), there is little room for anyone or anything else. It’s astonishing how we forget that we are all in this together, and that we’re all intimately linked no matter how far apart we may be physically.
As mentioned often, habitual behaviour is a result of conditioning. Once conditioned it’s very hard to observe the world or even ourselves with any sort of objectivity or freshness. If we see with prejudice, we can’t see at all. This is true in the approach to our relationships with people and the world around us, as well as with ourselves and our art. When we get used to looking and reacting the same way to things whether it be our work and our relationships we begin to form identities and get used to seeing only the labels. We get used to (or grow tired of) our spouses no matter how kind or beautiful they might be. We get used to (or bored of) seeing our work, no matter how good or flawed. This explains blindspots in art and why we need honest feedback. It’s all too easy to become casually indifferent, dismissive, judgemental and violent. This is the danger of habitual thinking; we become heartless and mechanical. We become blind to reality.
“There is danger in every habit, the habit of smoking, repetitive action, in the employment of words, thought or behaviour. This makes the mind utterly insensitive.” — J. Krishnamurti, Philosopher
What about good habits we might ask? Is there such a thing? I personally no longer believe so. It probably explains why it’s so rare and difficult to build so-called good habits versus how easy it is to create obviously bad ones. This is true when it comes to our profession as well as in how we eat, speak, move and act towards others. In art, it’s very clear that doing something habitually means we’re not truly connecting with the task/object in hand. There is no honest relationship. Hence, it’s so hard to find any flow — that state of beautiful effortless harmony and maximum effectiveness — in our actions because flow is a result of a deep sensitivity, the kind of sensitivity that abandons us when we are selfish and excessively cerebral; focus too hard on the results and we ruin our chances for success. In life, the matters are much more insidious because we are seldom able to catch ourselves getting lost in routine and mindless disorder. To see everything honestly, as if it’s the first time, is perhaps the only way out. It’s also a reminder that unbiased truthful observation might be the most precious thing about living.
“I have realized that the past and future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is.” — Alan Watts, Philosopher
Societies everywhere have become increasingly mechanical over the last century and a half and the pace of that change has been accelerating in the past 40 years. As we approach a crisis in attention, it’s no wonder humans all over this planet are filled with anxiety and or depression, living in constant attachment to desire and fear, psychological dilemmas often mistakenly redefined by the symbols of time and money. Studies show that up to 70% of people in modern cities regularly consume some sort of prescription, legal or illegal drug, and this is not including other forms of addiction or dependency such as smoking, alcohol, television, internet gaming or gambling we might use for placating or distracting ourselves. Slowing things down might be the perfect opportunity, if not the beginning of the answer to our plight. It is a chance to look inward while being fully cognizant of what’s happening outward.
As the mechanical world loses its steam temporarily – for how long, no one knows for sure — there lies an opportunity to use our minds not solely for diverting or suppressing our problems but to confront them directly. For each person to look within themselves and realize that it’s not all about themselves but about others. Being an artist has always been about that — our need for individual expression is a way of connecting our destiny with that of others. And as hard as things are now — and I have some understanding of this, as I’ve been quarantined twice in my life and made very sick do to a virus — we must always remember that “this too” will end, even if it only looks like the beginning.
I’ve never had much use for the word or idea of hope. But today, I hope that people everywhere can emerge from this crisis with greater consciousness, compassion and cooperation. And I’m sure our creativity won’t suffer because of it.
“We are not held back by the love we didn’t receive in the past, but by the love we’re not extending in the present.” — Marianne Williamson, Writer
